


[S] Dirk -->  Accept Your Fate.

by pixelizedRifles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Depression, Dirk's Issues, I Made Myself Cry, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, One Shot, Self-Hatred, Suicide, Triggers, repetitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelizedRifles/pseuds/pixelizedRifles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so you swing without hesitation, knowing that everything’ll be okay once you’re gone.  </p><p>And for once…you were right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[S] Dirk -->  Accept Your Fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for not updating my other fic; this is just something I kinda needed to get off my chest.
> 
> Hope this works, for now atleast. I'll try to update soon. 
> 
> Sorry.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you hate yourself.

 

You’re not exactly sure how things got this way; you’ve been lost in the abyss that is yourself for so long, you’ve given up on ever escaping.  You hate everything that you are, down to every pore.  God, you’re fucking awful.  Even when you try to fix things, you always manage to fuck up.  You’re always the bad guy; whether your intentions are good or not.  There’s so much shit wrong with you, it’s not even ironic.  Why are you still around again?

 

Oh right.  You care.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you care too much.

 

You’re not exactly sure how things got this way; you’ve been lost in the hope that you can help every single friend, solve every little problem.  You’ve pledged to always be there for them, to never turn a blind eye when they’re in need.  Maybe it’s a bit overwhelming, yeah, but you don’t give a fuck.  You love your friends, and you’re going to be there for them.  Tough shit.  So…What’s the problem again?

 

Oh right.  They don’t care about you.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you get taken advantage of.

 

You’re not exactly sure how things got this way; you’re pretty sure your friends never really _meant_ to use you, it’s just kinda a thing that happens.  Despite how much that your care for them, the feeling has never truly been requited.  You can’t count how many times you’ve been ignored, shut out, conveniently the only forgotten person to be invited to the party. 

 

And the excuses, they’re even worse.  People are too busy for you, even though they have plenty of time for everyone else.  You distinctly remember being turned down by Roxy to hang out, only to see Instagram photos of her and Jane hanging out a few hours later.  But honestly, why should this even bother you? 

 

Oh right.  Despite the common belief, you are actually _not_ a robot.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you feel _too much._

 

You’re not exactly sure how things got this way; actually, fuck that.  Things have always been this way.  You’ve prided yourself on being an unemotional asshole, too numb to feel anything but pride.  But in reality, you’re way too sensitive.  You’re like a ticking time bomb; an infant that’s still so inexperienced with everything.  Not that you’d ever let anyone know that.  It’d ruin your coolkid reputation.  Not to mention, they wouldn’t give a shit.  They never did.  And even if they suddenly changed their minds, they’d never have the chance to.  Not anymore.

 

Oh right.  You’re about to commit suicide.

 

 Your name is Dirk Strider, and as you hold your katana up to your neck, a tear rolls down your cheek.

 

A part of you doesn’t want to go; it wants to talk to someone, find a shoulder to cry on.  Maybe get some therapy in, have someone tell you that you are not _worthless_ , that youre not there _solely_ to be used.  That people actually need you around, and they just don't take what they want and go.   The other part of you, however, is repulsed.

 

You deserve this.  Every breath you take is a waste of precious oxygen; it’s so selfish for you to have lived this far.  Your friends don't care; none of them do.  And why should they?  You’re nothing, a pitiful excuse as a human being.  How fucking _dare_ you believe that you deserve a therapist, let alone all the damn ego-boosters. 

 

Nobody wants to listen, you don’t deserve their attention.  Nobody needs you around, youre not nearly significant enough to make such an impact on their lives.  Just because you have a freakish motherly obsession over them doesn’t mean that they have to feel the same.  Fucking moron.

 

You can feel blood trickling down your neck, and you realize that you’ve slowly been digging in to your neck; though not nearly enough to kill you.  You draw back, taking a shaky breath as hot crimson drips down, staining your shirt.  Shit, you can’t even kill yourself properly.  What a fucking joke.

 

You lift up your sword, and take a moment to think over what you are about to do.  Should you even bother leaving a note?  Would they even care to read it?  You sincerely doubt it, and you sniffle as snot threatens to trickle down your already soaked face.  The tears won’t stop coming, and as pathetic as you feel, you know that it’ll all be over soon.

 

Oddly enough, knowing that is what calms you down the most.

 

And so you swing without hesitation, knowing that everything’ll be okay once you’re gone. 

 

And for once…you were right. 


End file.
